


It Takes Blood and Guts

by speakingwosound (sev313)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Gender or Sex Swap, Olympics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:39:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1359433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sev313/pseuds/speakingwosound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Brian Burke brought her to Toronto, he had talked about You Can Play and how hockey should be based on skill, not sexuality or gender or ethnicity or skin color.  He had talked about the locker room in Toronto, his dream for a truly integrated team, where players thought “teammate” first and “gender” last.  It sounded Utopian, ridiculous, naïve.  Phil knew better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Takes Blood and Guts

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [Reverse Big Bang](http://hockey-rbb.livejournal.com) challenge on LJ. Thank you to [Azurejay](http://azurejay.livejournal.com) for the amazing [ mix](http://azurejay.dreamwidth.org/278334.html)! I hope this story lives up to its vision. And everyone should go listen to it. Right now.
> 
> This is my first attempt at gender swap, so bare with me. Also, slight warning for discussion of body image. Northing big, but Phil has some self-esteem issues that go along with being one of the first women in the NHL, so warning for that.
> 
> Random note on names: [Reemer](http://voices.yahoo.com/19-questions-james-van-riemsdyk-left-winger-for-12366890.html) refers to [James Van Riemsdyk](http://www.sportsnet.ca/hockey/nhl/van-riemsdyk-leafs-8-things-to-know).

“I want you to come with me to Colorado.”

“Ahh.” Phil squints at Brian Burke. “Colorado?”

“There’s a girl there. She’s good.” Burke leans against the wall by Phil’s stall in the Leafs’ locker room. “We want her here and I need your help convincing her.”

“If you want her to actually sign here,” Phil grabs her hoodie and pulls it over her head, her hair still wet from her shower, “I’m not your girl.”

“Nah,” Burke winks at her. “You’re not as bad as you think.”

Phil scoffs, disbelieving. 

“She’s gonna love you.” He pats her shoulder. “We leave tomorrow. I’ll have Christy e-mail you the details.”

He’s gone before Phil can convince him that this is a terrible idea. Phil is nothing if not the worst ambassador the NHL’s Integration Program has ever had. She’s quiet and a little homely and doesn’t really care that she’s one of the first women in the NHL. It’s probably why she’s always gotten on so well with the guys on her team, just as it’s the reason for the rift between her and the Integration Program.

“I don’t know why they’re sending _me_ ,” she tells Amanda later, baffled.

Phil can hear Amanda’s grin through the phone. “Because, whatever you seem to think, you’re a successful product of NHL Integration.”

Phil scoffs.

“No, no, seriously,” Amanda insists. “You score goals. Your team loves you. Toronto loves you. It’s just those idiots in Boston and fuck them anyway.”

“Sure,” Phil says, slowly, because it’s not exactly true. Toronto wanted her, sure, and she does score goals – lots of them – but the Toronto media is still pretty unsure about her and never wastes an opportunity to mention her in the same sentence as Tyler Seguin and non-existent playoff runs.

“Just-” Amanda’s voice drops, a little gentler, in that way it does when she feels bad about giving advice to her older sister. “Try to talk to the girl a little, yeah? It’s only for 24 hours. And I have faith in you.”

“Thanks,” Phil deadpans. “Your faith means a lot.” Which, it does, but Phil’s never going to tell her that.

***

Phil owes everything to Brian Burke. He was there, wanting her, begging for her, when the shit was hitting the fan in Boston and Phil was pretty sure her NHL career was about to come to a spectacular finish.

She wasn’t the first woman to ever play in the NHL. That privilege goes to Manon Rhéaume, and then the combined forces of Hayley Wickenheiser and Julie Chu. Phil was, however, the first woman to forego the college route or the CWHL. She only spent one year at the University of Minnesota, waiting out her draft eligibility, before jumping straight to the Bruins out of rookie training camp.

Sometimes, she thinks, things might have been different if she had spent more than a year at Minnesota, or had played on the women’s team, or had won a national championship. Something, anything, to give her more experience – not with the speed of the game, that she’s got down pat – but with all the rest of it. Her teammates. The media. The fans, who alternately ask her to sign their dicks and then throw unsettling slurs at her across the sidewalk. 

Or, maybe things would have been different if she hadn’t been drafted by an Original Six, with all the expectations and the pressure and the hostility that comes with being a Boston Bruin. For Phil, hockey has always been a refuge, a safe space, calm and quiet and good to her. She arrived in Boston assuming what was asked of her, and she put her head down and did it. She scored. She skated as fast as she ever had. She tried to be a good teammate in the room. But, it wasn’t enough, it never seemed to be enough.

Boston wanted her to be their ticket to a Bruins dynasty in the integration era. They wanted her to dazzle in interviews, pose for the newspaper cameras, and give perfect, pro-diversity and pro-women-in-sports sound bites. They hated her continuous stream of “I’m just another part of the team” and “I try not to focus on the politics of integration, I just want to play the game.”

And the truth is, there was nothing Phil could have ever said to satisfy them. She isn’t pretty enough, charismatic enough, deferential enough for the Boston media. They called her plaid shirts “burly” and her jeans “manly,” as if women’s jeans could ever fit over a hockey player’s ass. They knocked her ever-present beanie, but when she wasn’t wearing one, they published pictures of her with bed hair or the straggly mess she has when she first gets out of the shower. 

So, they waged a media war against her. They insisted on calling her “Phyllis,” no matter how many times she told them that she didn’t go by her given name. They published close-ups of her, post-game, sweaty and red, and usually when she was on her period so that they could joke about her acne. They caught her in the gym, wearing three exercise bras and over-large t-shirts, and wondered at her small physique and the way her muscles didn’t stand out against her clothes.

And, then, when the writing was pretty much already on the wall, they drew on her gender, her sexuality, and her presence in the locker room to set the stage for her demise:

“Phyllis Kessel, Too Manly for Boston’s Integration Strategy?”

“Phil Kessel on the Trading Block for ‘Lifestyle’ Choices.”

“Locker Room Problems in Boston: Phyllis Kessel at the Center of it All.”

When Peter Chiarelli had called her into his office, Phil had assumed that she was being sent down to the minors or traded to the CWHL or, worst case, would be asked to retire graciously. Instead, he had simply said, “I know that you’re not happy here” and had handed her his phone.

“Hello?” She remembers it like it was yesterday, the anger, confusion, worry, nerves sitting so close to the surface, pinching at her calm demeanor for months before the call.

“Phil, Brian Burke here. GM of the Toronto Maple Leafs.”

“I- I know who you are.” Everyone knew who he was. “Sir,” she had added, deferentially. It would become a running joke between them.

He had laughed, warm and fatherly. Phil still loves him for that. “So, I hear you’re having a hard time in Boston.”

“It’s- I’m fine, sir.”

“I’m sure you are, but, I have a proposition for you.”

“Okay.”

“How do you feel about the Maple Leafs?”

Looking back, it’s hard not to see it as the best, most important thing to ever happen to her. At the time, though, it had seemed like little more than the lesser of two evils. Toronto was still an Original Six team, took its hockey very seriously, and had a reputation for the worst media in the League. They were, however, rebuilding, desperate for scoring and maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to start over on the strength of her skills alone, instead of whatever preconceived notions the League seemed to have about gender equality.

Burke had talked some more, about You Can Play and how hockey should be based on skill, not sexuality or gender or ethnicity or skin color. He had talked about the locker room in Toronto, his dream for a truly integrated team, where players thought “teammate” first and “gender” last. It sounded Utopian, ridiculous, naïve. Phil knew better.

She said “yes” anyway.

***

“Ty Bozak.”

“Phil Kessel.” Phil reaches for Ty’s outstretched hand. Ty’s nails are painted red and gold, University of Denver colors.

“I know who you are.” Ty grins.

Phil winces. She knows what that means. “Don’t believe everything you read.”

“Only the good stuff,” Ty winks, leaning closer. “I find, with the media, it’s best just to ignore everything else.” 

“That’s-” _smart_ , Phil wants to say, but her head is reeling and she’s not quite sure why.

Ty smiles, again. She has nice teeth, Phil notes absently. “College educated girl right here.”

“Aren’t you a sophomore?”

Ty shrugs. “Sure, but they teach you all the important stuff early on.”

“Sure,” Phil says, slowly. She went to a year of college; she knows that, patently, that is not true.

“So, I’ve gotta get to practice, but, you’re staying, right?”

“It’s what we’re here for.”

Ty’s smile slips, fractionally, and Phil realizes, with sudden and definitive clarity, that her charisma and her charm and her enthusiasm are pretty good masks for her nerves and her insecurities. Phil feels a flash of fondness for this small spark of a girl who, undrafted, has put the University of Denver on the hockey map. 

Phil climbs into the stands to sit next to Burke. On the ice, Ty turns her head to wave at them, and trips over the red line. Phil grins.

“What?” Burke asks. “You have that look you get, that Kessel stubbornness.”

Phil shrugs. “I like her.”

***

Over the next 24 hours, Phil learns a lot about Ty, most of which was not in the scouting reports.

Ty is, above all else, a geek. She has a vintage poster from _Star Wars: Empire Strikes Back_ in her bedroom and is pretty horrified when she finds out that Phil hasn’t seen any of the _Star Wars_ movies. Ty is also pretty obsessed with video games, _Call of Duty_ in particular, and laughs raucously when Phil gets her ass handed to her, not only by Ty, but by most of the UC-Denver hockey team.

“I’m just not a violent person,” Phil protests.

Ty eyes her. “Alex Burrows.” And, yeah, that’s fair. Phil and Burrows have a bit of a history that comes down to a drunken night in Vancouver three years ago that no one will ever talk about again. Except, with their fists and their sticks and a number of other violent, on-ice kinds of things.

“Hockey’s different.”

“Yeah.” Ty’s face goes soft as she agrees, not looking at Phil as she starts up another game. “Yeah, it is.”

And that’s the other thing about Ty. She’s pretty smart and awkward and, for some strange reason, takes to Phil right away, but she’s also a hockey player. After her teammates bid them goodnight, they shut down the Xbox and surf the channels before landing on an Avs-Oilers game.

“Ahh, Peter Forsberg’s hands,” Ty sighs, sinking into the couch so that she’s leaning heavily on Phil’s shoulder. “Sometimes, when no one’s here, I diagram his passes.”

Phil’s heart is pounding in her ears. It’s just like her luck to be turned on by this – not video games or ice cream or banter – but this, smart, intense, on-the-same-page hockey talk. “Can’t teach hockey sense,” she murmurs.

Ty stiffens. Phil can feel it all along the seam where their bodies are pressed together. “We can learn. Get better.”

“Sure,” Phil agrees. She turns her head to see that Ty’s biting her lip, her left fist clenched against her thigh. Phil’s already starting to understand Ty’s nervous ticks, and she’s already starting to hate them a little. She reaches out, just far enough to tap the back of her hand against Ty’s thigh. “But, I saw you, in practice today, and natural talent like that, that can’t be taught.”

Ty blushes and it stretches past the collar of her shirt. Phil wonders, absently, how far it goes, but before she can do anything monumentally stupid, Ty’s straightening up, putting an inch or two between their bodies so that she can look at Phil.

“I’m sure my agent would kill me for saying this, but-” She’s biting her lower lip again, but this time she’s smiling and soft and a little giddy. “If I get an offer, from the Leafs, I’m going to take it.”

Hours later, when Phil’s pulled herself away and back to her hotel room, she stops by Burke’s door and knocks.

“Phil?” His hair is mussed, eyes sleepy and red. “What time is it?”

Phil shrugs. She has no idea. Late, probably. “We should make her an offer. Well, you should, I don’t have any control over those kinds of things.”

Burke laughs, looking more awake and grinning kind of knowingly. Phil loves him as much as she hates him for it. “Knew you were my girl.”

Phil frowns. “Wasn’t me. Ty wants to play for the Leafs. Who wouldn’t?”

Burke graciously doesn’t say _the 90% of the NHL who value their self-esteem, privacy, and self-worth_. He does, however, amend her statement. “With you. She wants to play with you.”

Phil doubts that. She scores goals, sure, but she’s also awkward and selfish and needs to get a lot better defensively. “Whatever. If we give her a contract, she’s going to sign.”

“She shouldn’t have told you that.”

Phil shrugs.

Burke sighs, put upon and indulgent and Phil shuffles under his gaze. Sometimes, she doesn’t know what he wants from her. But then he reaches out, patting her shoulder with one hand and stifling a yawn with the other. “Okay, bed time. We have a flight in,” he checks his watch, “five hours. I’ll set up a wake-up call for you.”

Phil nods. Meeting new people is exhausting, and it’s been a long time since she’s had to interact with a whole team of girls who, by definition, hate her for any number of things that she can and cannot control. Things like the fact that she plays in the NHL, that she doesn’t speak out loudly for integration, that she doesn’t make any effort with her appearance. The weight of their judgments is exhausting. 

When she gets back to her room, she strips efficiently and falls into bed in her bra and underwear and is asleep within seconds.

***

Two weeks later, Ty moves to Toronto and Phil agrees to be her designated team liaison. Which pretty much just means that she has to pick Ty up at the airport, take her back to the apartment she’ll be sharing with Schenn and Gunnarsson, and then to the practice rink. 

The team is just getting back into town for training camp, but there’s a number of guys at optional skate and, most importantly, it’s the first time that Phil’s actually on the ice with Ty. Phil won’t admit it where management or the media are in earshot, but she’s not sure how she ever played without Ty before.

“I’m gonna kick ass at this,” Ty shouts gleefully, wrapping her arm around Phil’s neck after Phil taps Ty’s pass into the net.

“What?” Phil asks, letting her go and juggling a puck on her stick. “Being a Maple Leaf?”

“Nah.” She slips in, boxing Phil out and taking the puck from her. “Being your playmaker.”

“Huh.” It hadn’t occurred to her that Burke had signed Ty for Phil, to play on a line with Phil, to pass to her and create traffic and score tip-ins off Phil’s shots. That feels like a lot of pressure, but also better than the pressure she shouldered last year, alone.

After practice, Ty climbs into Phil’s car, flushed and happy, hair wet and dragging across her shoulders. Phil has hers up in a sloppy bun, pushed as far out of her eyes as possible, and when Ty looks at her, so wide and open, Phil reaches up to pat her hair a little self-consciously. “What?”

Ty shakes her head, still grinning. “Does it ever go away? This feeling?”

“I don’t know.” Phil shrugs. She doesn’t want to answer that. For her, it went away pretty quickly, helped along by her teammates and the media. She hopes it doesn’t work that way for Ty.

And it doesn’t. Ty fits in really well in the locker room. She gets along with her roommates, and anytime it gets to be too much, she spends the night in Phil’s guest room or, occasionally, curled with Phil on her couch when they’re both too lazy to move. Ty even slots right in next to Phil on the top line, their chemistry even more apparent when they have time to practice and get used to each other on the ice. 

Perhaps best of all, though, is the rapport Ty develops almost immediately with the Toronto media. They catch on pretty quickly to the fact that Ty is not only the founding member of Phil’s fan club, but is willing to talk about Phil for as long as they want her to. She’s also beautiful and charismatic and, without Phil realizing it’s happening, weeks go by without the media even asking her for an interview.

A couple months into the season and a few vodka-cranberries into the night, Phil finally thinks to bring it up. “Hey, so, I’ve noticed you talk about me a lot to the media.”

“Ahh.” Ty’s eyes widen, and she refuses to meet Phil’s eyes. “Do I?”

Across the table, Dion chokes on his drink. “I hate to break it to you kid, but, Phil’s all you talk about.”

“I didn’t really think anyone would notice.” Ty protests, red all the way down the v of her t-shirt. 

“Impossible not to.”

“D-” Phil warns. “I only brought it up because it’s really nice, for me at least. Coach hasn’t asked me to do an interview in days.” She reaches her hand down to squeeze Ty’s knee. Ty’s blush deepens.

“I don’t really like talking about me,” which probably doesn’t help her case much where Dion’s concerned. Ty shrugs, pressing her knee into Phil’s hand. “You’re easy to talk about.”

Phil squeezes Ty’s knee under the table. She’s seen this coming, has for weeks, and isn’t surprised when Ty’s hand closes over hers. Phil smiles, that small, half-smile that she’s pretty sure is flirtatious, even if Amanda tries to tell her otherwise. “I think I’m gonna head home soon. Ty?”

Ty finishes her drink, dropping it back to the table with a couple of $20s. “I’m ready. See you tomorrow, D?”

“Sure.” Dion gives them a look that’s probably a little more intuitive than they’d like, but Phil hasn’t been laid since the summer and she’s not in much of a position to care. 

They pile into a taxi to Phil's, mostly because her place is devoid of rookies, but also because she doesn't like leaving Stella alone all night if she doesn't have to. 

Ty is on her before they get out of the cab, her hands on Phil's thighs, brushing across her chest, pressing quick, surreptitious kisses behind Phil's ear. The driver keeps his eyes on the road, and Phil wants this. Has been expecting this. Has since the moment she saw Ty on the ice back in Denver. She's not about to do anything to screw up her only chance at having it. 

When they get to her high rise, she pays the driver in enough $20s to keep him quiet, just in case, and pulls Ty into the elevator. She presses the stop button, before pushing Ty up against the mirror and slotting her thigh between Ty's knees. Ty grinds down, catching the v of her legs on the top of Phil's knee and letting out a delicious whimper for more.

"Phil," she murmurs, her voice already hoarse, eyes dark and damp and glassy. Phil leans forward, catching Ty's lips against hers, forgoing slow in favor of tongue and more and, Jesus, Phil is wet. She can feel it, waves of arousal that start in her neck and travel in quick, hot pulses down her spine, her breasts, and ending in her knees. 

Ty grabs at Phil's ass, pulling her even closer, and Phil flexes her thigh, pushing up into Ty's hips as they thrust and stutter and then Ty is gasping into the collar of Phil's shirt. Phil stills her leg, caressing Ty's shaking body with her hands and her mouth. 

"Yeah?" Phil asks, just to make sure, because she's about this close to coming without even being touched, but she needs to make sure that this isn't just her here. 

Ty leans in, pressing her answer softly against Phil's mouth, warm and swollen and Phil wants Ty naked five minutes ago. She reaches back long enough to start the elevator again, before slipping a hand under Ty's shirt and into the back of Ty's pants.

Ty's wearing something lacy, Phil can feel it, pretty and harsh against her fingertips. Which means that Ty had planned ahead, for Phil, or, at the very least, for someone. Ty had thought about this, prepared for it, worn special underwear in case it happened, finally, tonight. It’s all information that Phil kind of knew, but it's still deliciously arousing to have it confirmed. 

The elevator pings and Ty pushes off from the wall, grabbing the hand Phil has in her pants and pulling her to the doorway. Phil fumbles for her key, feeling off kilter by Ty's sudden show of aggression, and, impatient, Ty presses herself to Phil's back. 

"Come on," Ty breathes, following the shivers down Phil's spine with her fingertip. It's really not helping. 

Phil feels Ty reach around, laughing as she takes the keys from Phil's hand and slots the right one into the door. "Thanks," Phil manages, her throat tight and her voice hoarse as she forces the words out. 

"I'm kind of invested in getting into your apartment." Ty grins, slamming the door behind them and pushing Phil up against it. Ty drops to her knees and Phil’s brain short-circuits.

"Shit," Phil groans, her knees weak, and she has to press a hand back against the door to keep herself from sinking to the ground. 

Ty makes easy work of Phil's pants, flipping open the button of her jeans and pulling them down to her knees. Phil is wearing cotton underpants, just the basic black pair that she wears to and from the rink, but Ty doesn't seem to mind as she runs her index finger along the seam of Phil's thighs, pressing into the dampness she finds there.

"For me?" Ty asks, as if she's actually confused about how wet Phil is, how ready she is, damp and arching embarrassingly into Ty’s finger.

Ty just has no idea, and Phil laughs. It brings her back, just a little, just enough so that she can risk taking a hand from the back of the door to wrap it in Ty's hair. "No one else here."

"Asshole," Ty complains, but it doesn't stop her from leaning forward and pressing her lips to Phil's clit, sucking, hard, through the cotton. Phil gasps, shivering and tightening her fingers in Ty's hair. 

Ty flinches, reaching up to take Phil's hand in hers, holding her against the door and squeezing as she tongues at the fabric over Phil's pussy, fast and hard and unrelenting. Phil moans, sad little noises that slip out when she tries to breathe, and she can't keep her hips from thrusting into Ty's tongue. 

"Ty, Ty, Ty," she chants, a warning, and then she's letting out a long, low puff of breath and coming. Ty sucks in the crotch of Phil's underwear, tasting her, and Phil shivers with the aftershocks. 

When Phil is starting to feel a little raw, she shakes her fingers out of Ty's grip and clutches at the back of Ty's head. Ty pulls pack, pressing a series of kisses along Phil's inner thighs before standing up, stretching her knees and laughing as Phil pulls her in. 

Phil chases the taste of herself in Ty's mouth, and Ty moans a little, listing forward and allowing Phil to take control of the kiss. "Bedroom?" She asks, when her feet are getting tired, because she wants more, wants everything she can get out of this night, and hopes, desperately, that Ty is on board. 

Ty kisses Phil, hard, then steps back. "Please."

Phil's pants are around her ankles, and there's no graceful way to either pull them up or take them off. She settles on pulling them just high enough to rest on her hips, without doing them up, and follows Ty to her bedroom, wondering a little at how comfortable Ty already is here, in Phil’s apartment, in her home. 

Stella's waiting for them, raising her head as they enter Phil's bedroom and thumping her tail disapprovingly, as if sex in the hallway is offensive to her. Which, Phil thinks, it probably is, so she gives Stella an apologetic pat before sending her out of the room and closing the door. 

She turns back around and Ty's there, eyes wide and a little dazed, mouth red and chapped and Phil kisses her, again, as if they never stopped. When she’s thought about this – and Phil’s though about it a lot over the past few months - she’s always figured that it would be awkward, good and hot and fun, but uncoordinated and a little confusing and, well, just generally as awkward as they both are. In reality, though, it isn't, not really, not when Phil's been on edge for hours and is too aroused to be self-conscious about what she looks or sounds like. And Ty seems into it, seems _so_ into it, and Phil doesn’t have room in her mind right now to dig any deeper into Ty’s psyche.

Ty tugs at Phil's open jeans and Phil can get behind that. She toes of her shoes and steps out of her pants, before tugging at the hem of Ty's shirt. Ty grins, raising her arms and throwing her shirt on the floor before slipping out of her own pants. 

Her underwear _is_ lacy, lime green and flowery, and Phil can see how wet she is from here. Ty is also wearing an Incredible Hulk bra, with big green fists spread out over her breasts. Phil laughs. "You're ridiculous."

"What, these?" Ty cups her breasts and winks at Phil. "They're awesome."

"Whatever you say." Phil can't really talk, though, because when Ty unbuttons Phil’s flannel shirt, she's wearing two plain, black, cotton sports bras that are meant to be constricting and flattening. Ty frowns, and Phil rushes to defend herself. "It's more comfortable, when I play."

"Okay," Ty agrees, tentatively, then ignores Phil's protests and gently peels her bras slowly, one at a time, over Phil's head. 

And here it is, the awkwardness that Phil had been worried about. Phil’s never liked her breasts. They're too big for an athlete, awkward on her chest, a continuous reminder of what Phil's had to overcome to play hockey. And standing here, bare and shivering under Ty’s gaze, she can’t help but shift, uncomfortably, folding her arms over chest and turning her eyes away from Ty’s. 

Ty reaches out, pulling at Phil's forearms and, when Phil reluctantly drops her arms, Ty cups her breasts. "You have no idea," she says, softly, shaking her head and not looking up from where she's pinching Phil's nipples between her thumbs and forefingers. 

Phil really doesn’t. She doesn't have the most sensitive nipples. In fact, she hasn't ever gotten much pleasure from her breasts at all, but the way Ty lavishes attention on them with her tongue and her hands and her wet, hot, puffs of breath, Phil's willing to revise her opinion on that front. Or, at least, consider it. 

She's also willing to admit that it's possible she's short-shifted her previous partners, because she's never spent much time on their breasts, either. That can be rectified, though, and she pushes Ty towards the bed, until the back of Ty's knees hit the mattress and she sprawls backwards onto it, as graceless as usual. 

She's giggling, face red and lips pulled into a wide, happy smile as Phil settles on top of her thighs. "I still have no idea how you play hockey."

Ty shrugs, her shoulders moving against the bed and muscles rippling across her stomach. Phil reaches out to touch, running the back of her hand across Ty's stomach, catching on her muscles and slipping one finger under her lime green underwear. Ty shivers, biting at her lip as her hips buck, trying to push Phil's hand lower. "Always better at skating than walking. Or, so my mom says."

Phil laughs, moving her hand up. Ty whines in protest, until Phil cups the stupid Hulk hammers and then bends her head to mouth at Ty's left nipple through the cotton. Ty cries out, hips bucking up against Phil's spread legs and Phil's mouth stutters. 

"Yes, Jesus, more, Phil, your mouth. Please." Ty's stream of encouragement spurs Phil on, and she pushes the cup down to nip at Ty's bare tit. It's red and purple, already hard, visible proof of Ty's arousal and Phil finds that she likes the physical validation that Ty’s as into this as she is. 

When Phil moves to Ty's right breast, Ty arches up to undo her bra and draw it off and away so that she's bare, small and perfect against the pale skin that stretches from her collarbone to her stomach. Suddenly, Phil wants to see her naked, all of her, and she scoots down, slipping her index fingers into the waistband of Ty's bright green underwear and pulling it off.

Ty immediately spreads her thighs so that Phil can see her damp curls, the way the tops of her thighs are glistening and slick, and she's beautiful. All pale skin and dark hair, trimmed to a triangle between her legs, showing, clearly, the v of her pelvic muscles. There’s no questioning the strength of her body. She's beautiful, athletic, powerful. 

Phil reaches out, flattening her palm on the inside of Ty's knee and trailing upwards, over her thigh and up until her fingers are wet and slippery, and then she slips two into Ty's vagina. Ty's back arches off the bed, pushing into Phil's fingers and grasping at Phil's shoulders. 

Phil shifts, so that she can kiss Ty without removing her fingers. Ty's mouth is messy, breathing in short little pants against Phil's lips and alternately exploring Phil's mouth with her tongue. 

"Hey, hey," Ty finally pants, pulling at Phil's bicep until she stills, fingers still buried deep. "Just- Before I-" She pushes blindly at Phil's hips, until her figures find the waistband of her underwear and Ty sits up, dislodging Phil's fingers and finding the right angle to get the last bit of clothing off and onto the floor.

"Sorry, just, I'm really close and I want you. With me." Ty explains, as she flips them over, eyes roaming Phil's body for long, overwhelming seconds. Phil's suddenly glad that she's been trimming the last few weeks in the hopes that, eventually, at some point, this would happen. 

And then Ty's thumb is rubbing against her clit and her mouth is licking along Phil's collarbone, and Phil can't think anymore beyond _more_ and _thrust_ and _heat_ and _Ty_. Without thinking about it, she gets her hand between their bodies, her fingers on Ty's clit. Seconds after Ty comes, whimpering and shaking and utterly beautiful, Phil follows her. 

It takes Phil a long time to recover, but when she does, Ty is still curled against Phil's side, her eyes closed and her arms and legs thrown over Phil's. She looks ridiculous, open and relaxed and post-coital, and it takes almost more effort than Phil has to get up and head into the bathroom. She cleans up, brushes her teeth, and ignores Stella's whines on her way back to bed. 

"Hey," Ty murmurs. "Thought you had left."

"Nah." Phil climbs in, surprised when Ty plasters herself to Phil's side again. "You tired me out."

Ty laughs, her chest heaving against Phil's side, and Phil feels a tinge of arousal that she can't possibly act on. 

"Mm, night." Ty snuffs into Phil's neck, and then she's asleep. Phil stays up, for hours, watching her, memorizing the way she feels under her hands, before, finally, she gives in to the warm contentment and drifts off. 

***

If Phil isn't surprised the first time they hook up, she is the second. And the third. And the times after that, until she can't remember how many times she's had Ty laid out - naked and whimpering and wet - under her. 

They don't talk about it. It's never pre-meditated, almost always when they're a little buzzed, and mostly on the road. It’s always intense, though, just on the edge of too much, and when they’re done, Ty always spends the night in Phil's bed. Phil exerts a lot of energy not thinking too hard about what Ty looks like, mussed and sleepy and still sated, in the early mornings. 

Phil doesn't really understand why it's not out of Ty's system yet. She knows that, in the beginning, Ty sort of idealized her. Now, though, Ty's seen her cranky and emotional when a bad loss and the first couple days of her period coincide; Ty's suffered through more than one of Phil's long, extended, frustrating cold streaks; she's woken to Phil, over-heated and breaking out, with terrible morning breath. And, yet, Ty stays. She watches _The Real Housewives_ on Phil's couch, she drinks Phil's beer during curling games, and she still seems totally into seeing Phil naked a few times a month. It’s confusing.

"Stop over-thinking it," Amanda advises when she calls for advice on her wrist shot and, instead, hears more than she wants to about Phil's best-friends-with-benefits relationship with Ty. 

"Yeah."

"You don't over-think anything else. Why start now?" Amanda probably means it to be a light chirp, but Phil freezes. She doesn't know how to answer that, because this, this thing with Ty, is different. It's important. It's also potentially the most dangerous thing Phil's ever done.

After the debacle of Boston, Phil’s worked hard to cultivate her privacy in Toronto. The media doesn't hound her, as long as she talks to them every couple of weeks and Ty answers questions on Phil every couple of days. They don’t camp outside her house or follow her to the grocery store. Even fans tend to ask for autographs, maybe a picture or two with their children, but rarely snap candids. All that would change in an instant, however, if the media ever caught wind of Phil's sexuality. 

She can see the headlines now. 

"Integration Bringing Homosexuality to the NHL"

"Integration Detractors’ Fears Confirmed: Star Maple Leaf Phyllis Kessel Comes Out"

There'd be reporters at her door and at the rink. Her teammates would be asked about her continuously. Did they know about her? What is the atmosphere in the locker room with a queer player in the room? Do they still believe in integration? It would be endlessly distracting, until Nonis would call her into his office and ask her, politely and regretfully, if she would step aside, for the good of the team, and Phil wouldn't be able to argue. 

Phil sighs. That’s way more detail into her own neurosis than Amanda needs to know. "It's complicated," is all she says. 

"You know you're an emotionally constipated asshole, right?"

"Thanks, sis."

"Don't call me that. If anyone ever asks, I'll deny that we're related."

For Amanda's sake, Phil almost wishes that were possible. Amanda might be better off, without the expectations and the endless comparisons to Phil. At least Amanda's decided to go the collage route, pledging four years to the University of Minnesota and one to the US National Team, before going pro. Phil had been a big proponent of the plan when Amanda was making the decision three years ago, and she still thinks it will serve Amanda well in the long term. 

Because the thing is, Amanda isn't wrong. Years away from home, struggling with her gender and her sexuality and the pressures of integration, have rendered Phil a little less emotionally available than she'd like to be. Less, probably, than Ty deserves, but that's a thought Phil never lets get too far. 

Phil does know, however, that she and Ty should probably talk about whatever it is they're doing. She doesn’t push it though. Ty knows all about Phil's fears of being outted, and Phil has seen Ty pick up guys. Not very often, and always discretely, but Phil figures it's only a matter of time before Ty meets someone, settles down, and decides that their random hook-ups aren't worth the danger or the effort. There’s no need to rush it, Phil figures, when their pseudo-relationship has an expiration date. 

Phil is still waffling over conversation starters when the choice is taken from her. First, by the early end to their season. Then, by the lockout, and while Phil splits her time between organizing pick-up games in Toronto and watching her sister play in Minnesota, Ty retreats to Regina and doesn't come back until the lockout's over. Even then, she arrives homeless and, in probably the stupidest move Phil's ever made, she offers Ty a room.

***

The morning after Ty moves in, she joins Phil at the kitchen table, pulling the Raisin Bran towards her and only putting down her iPhone when she has to see to pour the milk. It’s the same routine she’s followed every morning she's stayed at Phil's over the last three years. 

"Good Morning," Phil says, pointedly. 

"Morning," Ty tells her around a spoonful of cereal. 

Stella whines to be let out, and as Phil gets up to open the balcony door, she remembers to warn Ty, "Sorry if she woke you up this morning. She can be a little needy until she's fed." 

Ty shrugs. "I can sleep with my door open, if that's easier?"

"Yeah, that'd be cool." It really wouldn't. Phil will be able to hear those little whines that Ty makes in her sleep, and the open door will be embarrassingly tempting. Stella will really appreciate it though, and Phil's pretty used to making sacrifices for her dog.

"So, um-" Ty stops, and Phil glances over from the balcony door to see that Ty's put down her spoon and is biting her lower lip, not quite looking at Phil. "Do we need to talk? About us?"

They haven't hooked up in nine months. Partly, Phil had assumed, because of summer break and then the lockout. But, Phil had honestly assumed that, with the time away, Ty had finally gotten over whatever it was that made her want Phil in the first place. 

Phil blames the early morning for actually voicing the thought. "I kinda thought you'd be over me by now." Phil freezes. "Over that, hooking up, I mean."

Ty looks at her like she's announced she's moving back to the women's league. "Phil, you're my best friend. People don't just 'get over' their best friend."

That's not really what Phil had meant. These boundaries between best friend and fuck buddy and whatever else they are, are super unclear. "I just-" She stops, not knowing if _thought it was hero-worship_ or _thought you were horny and I was a safe bet_ is a better answer. She settles on, "Thought you would have found someone else by now."

Ty scoffs.

"What? You could fuck anyone you want."

Ty laughs. "That is so not true and you know it. You've watched me try and pick up."

Which is true. Ty is pretty awful at it, awkward and goofy and overly enthusiastic, which Phil has always thought of as her best qualities but maybe, perhaps, come across as sleazy in a bar-and-alcohol context. Still, she's better than Phil is. If Phil actually wanted to pick up these days, which she doesn’t. She hasn’t even tried in ages.

Phil ignores what else is implied in Ty’s comment. Ty hooks up with Phil because Phil’s easy, a sure thing. Phil’s always known that, but she doesn’t really want it so blatantly confirmed.

She pushes the thought away. "Um, so?"

Ty shrugs. "I'm still in if you are. The hooking up part at least." She grins. "The best friend part you don't really have a say in."

"Sure," Phil teases and, because Stella's at the door again, she lets her in. Then, because Phil thinks that she has to, she adds, as casually as she can, "And, if you wanna pick anyone else up, do whatever you want. Just, not in front of Stella, yeah?"

Ty is silent for a long, thick moment and Phil has a really hard time deciphering her expression. But then Ty shakes her head, grinning again and chirping, "Don't want to corrupt her innocent doggie brain?"

"Don't want you giving her any dirty ideas, no."

Ty rolls her eyes, getting up to dump both their cereal bowls into the sink. "No fucking in front of the dog, got it. Any other rules I should know about?"

Phil thinks about it. Ty was pretty much living here last year, anyway, and Phil's a pretty easy-going girl. "Nope."

***

Living together isn't much different from how they were living before. Ty spends an inordinate amount of time playing _Call of Duty_ in her room and Phil spends her free time watching _SportsCenter_ , marathoning _The Sopranos_ , and doting on Stella. Most evenings, Ty joins them for their post-dinner walks, dressing Stella in her Leafs’ sweater and taking a few turns around the block. Every once in a while, Ty orders in take out, but mostly it's up to Phil to both order and pay for both of them. 

Even if nothing changes between them, though, the amount of chirping from their teammates does go up.

"Look, Bert and Ernie have finally blessed us with their presence," Loops calls out to them on one particularly late morning. 

Phil gives him the finger. Ty just grins. "Always knew you missed me when I'm not around."

"Nah," Loops grabs Ty in a headlock. "We miss Phil, but you two come as a package deal, so-"

Ty kicks out at Loops’ knee and slips out from his hold. "At least I have someone who loves me."

Phil wraps an arm around Ty's neck and presses an exaggerated, quick kiss to her cheek. Loops looks mock-hurt and goes back to tying his skates, like a real hockey player.

They don't start hooking up any more or less, either, after Ty moves in. Still mostly on the road, where they share orgasms and a bed in their hotel room. At home, they're usually both tired and lazy, preferring to spend their time lounging on the couch instead of making out. Except for the rare spectacular win or pretty goal or particularly bad loss, when the team gets pleasantly buzzed and Phil finds herself on her back in her bedroom, fingers clenched in the bed sheets and Ty's tongue on her clit.

It happens a lot during the playoffs. Boston is still on Phil's shit list, as she is on theirs, and the media take every opportunity to rehash the trade, link to old articles that were better left forgotten, and generally pretend that Phil is the same grumpy, self-conscious, cocky kid she was when she was eighteen. Even the Toronto media gets into it, spinning stories of redemption and revenge, as if Phil hadn't moved on years ago.

"I just don't see why I have to be the story. It was four years ago," she whines, pulling at Stella's leash to keep her from running too far ahead. Next to her, Ty sighs, adjusting her sunglasses and pulling her blue and white scarf tighter around her neck. Toronto is cold, even in early May. 

"Ignore them."

Phil turns to glare at her. It works better when she's not wearing sunglasses. "I am."

Ty laughs, that loud, goofy laugh that starts low in her chest and is impossible to ignore. It makes Phil smile, just a little, even though she knows Ty's laughing at, not with, her. Ty shakes her head, "You’re precious, Phil, really."

Phil scowls, stopping as they get to the dog park and crouching down to take Stella off her leash. Stella bounds off, ignoring Phil in favor of the Rottweiler from the townhouse down the road. Phil watches them carefully for a moment, before she feels Ty's hand, insistent on her elbow. 

The park is pretty empty, but it still makes Phil nervous when Ty pulls her behind a tree. Ty glances around them, then leans forward to kiss Phil, wet, messy, and Phil blanks out for a long, affective moment before she remembers where they are and pushes Ty away. 

"Not here."

Ty rolls her eyes. "No one's around."

"Telephoto lenses," she reminds Ty, knowing that she's being a little paranoid. But, they're in the playoffs and they're playing Boston and Phil really wouldn't put it past reporters to be trailing her at all times. 

Ty doesn't deign her self-delusions with a response, but she does step away, around the tree, focusing all her attention on finding a ball for Stella. Phil feels like an asshole, mostly because she is an asshole. She knows it. It's just that knowing it doesn't mean that she can change. 

"Sorry," she says, anyway, when she stops a few inches from Ty, pushing her hands into her pockets and watching them play fetch. 

"It's fine," Ty lies, so blatantly that Phil can tell. Ty looks up from where she's crouched on the grass. "But, some day, you're gonna realize that you were worth all of it, the bad press and Tyler Sequin and 27 million dollars. Toronto got a steal."

Phil stares at her, feeling this insane urge to cry. Which is stupid. She hasn't cried about Boston since the day she arrived in Toronto and realized what a good deal she had gotten in the end.

That night, she scores a goal, willing the Leafs to win on her determination and her skill alone. When they get home, Ty pushes her against their front door and kisses her, all pride and dirty promises and Phil feels warm and happy for the first time in days.

"You do listen to me sometimes," Ty murmurs, voice tight against Phil's ear. 

Phil shrugs, pushing her fingers into Ty's suit pants and feeling her already slick and ready. She raises an eyebrow, and Ty nods, blushing, as her hips jerk into Phil's hand. 

"Yeah," Ty admits. "Since your goal."

That does it for Phil every time, the thought that Ty gets off on Phil's play on the ice. For years, Phil had assumed that she was the only one who gets wet just thinking about hockey, but Ty’s proven her wrong again and again. Phil groans and pulls and shoves at Ty's shoulders until they're splayed out on Phil's bed, naked and warm. 

Phil caresses Ty's thighs, spreading them and sucking a deep, red bruise into the crease of Ty’s left thigh, a reminder of the game that only she and Ty will ever know about. 

"God, Phil," Ty groans, pressing into Phil's mouth and threading her fingers through Phil's hair, still wet and tangled from her post-game shower. 

Phil isn't up for making Ty beg tonight, not after they've both been on edge since midway through the third period. She wastes no time fitting her lips around Ty's clit, blowing out her cheeks and sucking hard. Ty cries out, pulling on Phil's hair, her knees bent around Phil's head as she jerks into Phil's mouth.

Phil sets a rhythm, long, wet swipes of her tongue across Ty's vagina, ending with quick, hard pulses of her lips against Ty's clit. Ty is cursing and sweating, her thighs damp as Phil scrambles for purchase. 

Ty is making noises that travel directly down Phil's spine, and she thrusts her hips, slowly, desperate for friction against the mattress. She moans around Ty, slipping her tongue inside and tongue fucking her, bringing her thumb up to rub circles against her clit and Ty freezes, whimpering Phil's name and coming. 

"Ugh," Ty grunts, grabbing for Phil's shoulder and laughing, a little hysterically, when Phil scrambles up the bed. She slots their mouths together, Ty's tongue tasting herself on Phil, and Ty groans, raising her knee and pressing it up for Phil to thrust against. Phil is close, leaving long, wet stripes along the muscle of Ty's thigh, and then Ty's thumb is on her clit and Phil shakes out her climax. 

Phil feels high, on winning and Ty and something that does feel a bit like redemption, and it's enough to get her all the way to game 7. Which they lose, spectacularly, and Phil spends their last night in Boston in her own bed, watching Ty in hers, wishing for something that she doesn't, can't, never will have. 

***

Ty comes back after summer break with no intentions of moving out and a brand new, super expensive strap on. She buys it after signing her new contract and tells Phil that it's her half of the rent for the next six months. Phil is absolutely fine with that.

Phil's only used a strap on once, with Patricia Kane, Phil's last year in the National Development Program. Phil was sixteen, trying to figure out her sexuality after her semi-disastrous one-night stand with Jack Johnson, surrounded by teenage boys and Pat. So, they'd fucked around a bit. It had been good, easy and safe, until Sam Gagner came around and Pat had always been more on the heterosexual side of the spectrum, anyway. 

Before that, though, they had tried the strap-on and it had been kind of hot, but also kind of painful and confusing and they had ended up getting each other off with their hands. Now, though, Phil has a lot more experience, a little more confidence, and Ty seems to really know what she’s doing as she settles the harness around Phil’s waist and thighs.

She runs her hand around the dildo, tightening her fingers and giving two quick tugs before stepping back. “Beautiful,” she murmurs, grinning, and Phil is stuck somewhere between embarrassed as hell and more turned on than she’s ever been. 

Phil knows that she doesn’t actually have a dick, doesn’t really want one, and she know that there’s no real feeling in the plastic dildo. Except, she can feel Ty’s eyes on her, Ty’s hand, Ty’s mouth as Ty sinks to her knees and takes the tip into her mouth. Phil’s nerves are on fire, the dildo bobbing as her hips thrust automatically, and it’s just as hot, she imagines, as it would be if she did have a real one.

She’s leaking pretty embarrassingly, and Ty reaches two fingers back, crooks them into Phil’s pussy, then draws them out and wraps her fist around the dildo, leaving it wet and slick. When Phil looks down, Ty’s mouth is red and swollen, her cheeks tinged pink and her hips thrusting, aborted little stutters into the air.

“Fuck, Ty,” Phil breathes out, pushing her onto the bed and settling between her thighs, kissing her deeply. The dildo thumps awkwardly against Ty’s knee, but Phil adjusts, settling her hips so that the dildo is trapped in the crease of Ty’s thighs and they both let out low, guttural groans and Phil shivers in something so closely approaching an orgasm, but she is too turned on to even tell if she reaches it or not.

“Come on,” Ty urges, adjusting her hips so that the tip bumps against her opening. Phil can barely think anymore, but with her last bits of coherent thought, she grabs for a handful of lube from the pump on the bedside table. It mixes with her own juices on the dildo, and she loses herself for a long moment as she pumps her first, slow and steady.

And then Ty’s whining and Phil grabs the base of the harness in her wet hand and settles, gently, at the barrier of Ty’s vagina. “Yeah?” She asks, because she doesn’t want this to hurt, and she needs to be absolutely sure.

“Yes,” Ty answers, humping her hips against the tip. “Hell yes.”

Phil pushes forward, slowly, slowly, stopping every inch so that Ty can adjust the angle, until she’s seated to the hilt, her clit brushing against Ty’s and, “Oh shit,” Phil has never, ever, felt something like this before. 

“Yeah,” Ty agrees, her hands finding purchase on Phil’s ass, urging her forward. “Move, please?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Phil pants, distracted by the sensations, of being in Ty, feeling Ty around her, like with her tongue or her fingers but different, both more and less, and Phil feels a strange sense of power that is arousing and amazing and she wants, as soon as possible, to do this again with Phil on her back and Ty braced above her, dildo perched between Ty's legs.

Phil tries to set a rhythm, but it’s awkward, a little stilted, as she adjusts to the silicone and the pleasure. She doesn’t know how guys do it all the time, stay in control when her mind is burning with sensation and the desire for _faster_ and _more_ almost, almost overpowering her worry for Ty’s safety. 

Phil shouldn’t have worried, though. Ty is wet, ready, as into this as Phil is, and as she wraps her ankles around Phil’s hips, encouraging her to care less and thrust more, Phil feels it, the low, gathering power low in her belly and then she’s freezing, her thighs seizing up, and coming. She feels strung out, her mind blank with exhaustion, but she gets a hand between them to finish Ty off before she pulls out and collapses on her back next to Ty.

They lie like that, unmoving, for long minutes, the sounds of their heavy breathing filling the quiet of the apartment. Until Ty laughs, once, brightly, and turns onto her side to run a hand along the insides of Phil’s thighs, rubbing through the remnants of her orgasm, before wrapping her fist loosely around the dildo. Phil’s body trembles, aftershocks or a valiant effort to go again, she doesn’t know.

“That was-” Ty starts, her eyes not moving from her fist. She doesn’t continue.

“Yeah,” Phil agrees, flexing her knees, just to make sure that they’re still working. “I’m glad you knew what you were doing.”

“Ahh,” Ty blushes, stopping her hand and shifting into a better position to pull the harness from Phil’s hips. “I didn’t. I just- watched a lot of YouTube tutorials.”

Phil laughs, wonderfully, openly, because Ty is perfect. Utterly perfect, and Phil loves her for every inch of it. Ty tugs and Phil lifts her hips, still grinning, and when the dildo is off and placed carefully on the bedside table, she gathers Ty to her and kisses her, softly, gently, full of amusement.

Ty slaps her chest, “Asshole,” but doesn’t move away.

***

Things change after that. Subtly, slowly, but noticeably. When Phil allows herself to analyze it, she thinks it has something to do with the strap-on thing, because they shared something new together, something different and unique and took that one, small part of each other's virginity. 

The changes could also be, though, a result of Ty's injuries. They keep her at home, off the road, and not only does it put an end to road sex, but it leaves Phil missing her like the ache of a phantom limb. 

"Co-dependent assholes," even D mutters when he catches her in a moment of exhaustion in LA and Phil finally breaks down and admits to missing Ty.

Reemer, bless him, just shrugs at them both. "I miss her, too." Phil has the best linemates in the League, she’s more sure of it every day.

Whatever the reason, by the time the HBO 24/7 crews arrive in early December, Ty's spending almost every night Phil’s home in Phil's bed. There isn't always sex involved. In fact, most nights Ty's abdominal muscles are acting up or Phil's cranky after a bad game, and Phil just curls around Ty as they drift off to the sounds of _NHL Tonight_ on the giant flat screen in Phil's bedroom.

The day the cameras arrive, though, they go out after their OT loss to Boston. Normally, on nights like this, Ty will give her some kind of sign. Take her hand, squeeze her knee, find a way to whisper something dirty and dangerous in Phil's ear. This night, though, she doesn't give any sign and as much as Phil hates it, she knows why, and she knows that it’s for her benefit. 

When they get home, though, Ty stops outside Phil's bedroom, looking unsure. At their feet, Stella whines, ready for bed, and Phil absently bends down to pet her ears. 

"There aren't any cameras here." Ty says, biting her lower lip.

Phil cringes. She hates when Ty does that. "Maybe it's safer just to- not, while they're hanging around?"

Ty shrugs, one shoulder coming up to her ear and she's looking away. Phil can't tell what she's thinking. "Yeah, I figured."

"Just, for a few weeks, yeah?"

Ty nods. She leans in, like she wants to kiss Phil, then shakes herself. "Night."

Phil watches her walk away, feeling like she's just blown the biggest game of her life. She's not entirely sure why. 

*** 

Halfway through the four weeks that HBO is following them, Phil is hanging out in the living room, playing Angry Birds: Star Wars edition on Ty's iPad and texting Amanda. 

“I’m thinking about cutting my hair.”

Phil types out a quick ‘brb’ to Mandy and looks up. “Bangs?” She asks, because Ty’s been talking about giving herself bangs for as long as Phil’s known her.

“Nah.” Ty collapses onto the other couch, sprawled out, her shirt riding up so that Phil can see way too much of her hip. Phil needs to get laid. “I was thinking something more drastic.”

“Drastic?” Phil raises an eyebrow. Ty’s always been an easy-going, under-the-radar kind of girl. It’s one of the things Phil likes about her.

“Yeah, like,” Ty reaches out to grab Phil’s iPad off the coffee table, typing in the password easily. Phil would be annoyed, except she has Ty's in her lap and she tries not to make hypocrisy a life goal. Ty pulls up a picture of Pink with short, beach blond hair and passes the iPad to Phil. “Something like this.”

Phil really knows very little about hair, but, “You want to dye it?” because even she knows that’s a terrible idea.

“No.” Ty looks aghast. “God, no. Just the style.”

Phil looks back at the picture. As much as she loves Ty’s long hair, Ty would look really hot with a shorter cut. It would fit her, kinda punk, kinda geeky. “Yeah, it’s cool.”

“You think?”

“I mean, I don’t know anything about fashion, but, sure.” Phil frowns. “You should probably be talking to Loops. Or Elisha.”

Ty shrugs. “I don’t really care what they think.” Which, does that mean that Ty cares what Phil thinks? Phil shakes her head. They've only been sleeping in separate beds for two weeks and she's already starting to question her every move around Ty. By the time the HBO cameras leave in another two, Phil’s going to be an emotional basket case.

Ty sighs, sitting up and resting her elbows on the arm of the couch, staring at Phil, her eyes scrunched up in the corners. “I’m worried it’ll make me look a little gay, yeah? Not that I mind, but, you know?” She motions towards Phil, and Phil's not sure if she's worried the media will start treating her like they treat Phil - which is never going to happen - or whether she's just worried about making things harder for Phil herself.

Either way, though, "Don't worry about it. You can pull it off." The hair cut, the media, the lifestyle, Ty can make anything work for her in ways that Phil just can’t.

“I don’t know.” Ty frowns. “I’m not as strong as you are.”

Ty bounds up, wandering away to make them smoothies for lunch, and Phil watches her go, missing her, wanting her. It's stupid, because this whole celibacy is entirely self-imposed. She had miscalculated. She figured, for a month they could just pick up other people. But, Phil hasn't slept with anyone else since this UW girl back in Madison last June, and she hasn't seen Ty pick anyone up all season. 

Phil's at a breaking point when, their next free day, Ty comes back from lunch with D and Elisha with a short, styled, gelled cut that shows off her eyes and her cheekbones. 

"Hey," Ty calls, dropping her purse by the door and coming to find Phil in the living room. "So, I went for it."

"I see that."

"You like?" Ty asks, nervously running her hands through her new hair. 

Phil nods, pulling her down to the couch and, fuck the cameras, kissing her. Ty makes a surprised noise, but then she's there, meeting Phil desperately, her hips already thrusting against Phil's. Phil tries to tangle her fingers in Ty's hair. It's harder now, but also hotter, and as Phil scratches at Ty's scalp, Ty tilts her head, pressing into it with a whimper.

They don't last long, after a couple weeks apart, and when they're done Phil takes Ty's hand and leads her to Phil's bedroom. Ty looks so relieved that Phil hates herself for making Ty wait this long.

***

Integration still isn’t perfect, ten years on, and the NHL is unsuccessful in lobbying for a late start for the women’s tournament in Sochi. Dave Nonis and Randy Carlyle give Phil two options: join the women late in Sochi, or miss the last two Maple Leafs’ games before the Olympic break. US coach Katey Stone gives her one.

So, after their loss to the Panthers on the 4th, the team throws a mini-going away/good luck in Sochi/try to keep safe over there party at a hole-in-the-wall bar in Miami. Phil’s pretty drunk, angry at the loss and self-pitying about missing the next couple of games.

“Hey, at least you’re going to the Olympics,” Dion leans over, his breath smelling strongly of whiskey and still stinging from being left off of Team Canada.

“Yeah,” she says, feeling guilty for being annoyed. Truth is, she loves playing for her country and the group of girls they’ve put together is pretty amazing. And she gets to play with Amanda, which is a dream they’ve had since they were kids. It’s just- weird, for the NHL players who haven’t spent six months bonding like the college players have been.

“Text me when you get there,” Reemer pushes Dion away, rolling his eyes and giving Phil a little smile. “If they’re still short pillows in the Village, I’ll bring us both one.”

“Thanks,” she tells him, completely seriously. She’s pretty worried about the pillow situation. And the hot water situation and the stray dogs and the food in the Village Cafeteria. If Phil was the worrying type, she'd have started on a panic attack days ago. 

“So, last dance til Sochi?” Reemer holds out his hand and Phil wants to beg off, but across the dance floor she catches Ty, sheltered between Loops and Orrsey, and Phil suddenly wants, badly, to be out there with her.

“Sure.” She takes Reemer’s hand, allows herself to be lead over to their group of Leafs. Reemer drapes himself over her, as if she needs his help keeping guys at bay or something. She’s terrible at dancing, though, and by following his lead she at least looks like she can fake having rhythm.

She’s feeling a little light-headed, smooth and easy, when Ty moves into her space. Above Phil’s head, she can feel Ty and Reemer speaking in the silent way only linemates can, and then Ty replaces Reemer’s hands on Phil’s hips and pulls Phil so close that Phil's thigh is braced between her knees.

“You’re gonna be safe, right?”

Ty sounds a little desperate, strained and serious in a way she only ever is around Phil, and Phil nods, risking a quick kiss behind Ty’s ear, hidden by their teammates and the fall of Phil’s hair. Sometimes, Phil forgets that Ty worries enough for both of them.

“Can you say it?”

"That I'll be safe?" Phil teases, tilting her head back just far enough to look at her. “Ty, I’m gonna be fine. I’m more worried about Stella with only you to take care of her.”

“Stella loves me,” Ty shoots back, frowning and defensive, and that’s exactly the response Phil was going for.

“Sure."

“Mandy says she whines for me all summer.”

Which, is mostly true, but “Mandy’s a liar,” which is also true. Just, not really about this.

The song changes, some rap song that Phil can’t quite place, and Ty’s hands tighten on her hips, fingers slipping under the waistband of her jeans. “Can we get out of here?” Ty asks, biting her lip, and Phil can’t say no, never can these days.

***

Phil's flight is early the next morning. She showers and dresses as quietly as possible, then leans over the bed for a quick shared kiss with a still-sleepy Ty before heading out to the airport.

She sleeps on the flight and arrives at Newark a little fuzzy and sleep-weary. The NHLPA has chartered a flight for the female NHL players, though, so most of them are waiting for her at their gate, all looking a little weary but happy to be on their way to Sochi: Pat is curled on two seats, fast asleep, and still wearing her Hawks gear; Hayley Wickenheiser is reading the NY Times in a Habs cap and a Team Canada hoodie, Julie Chu sleeping on her shoulder; Hilary Knight is FaceTime-ing someone, probably Amanda, Phil figures, and she waves just in case; and Jo Quick and Robbie Luongo are sharing a carton of french fries and, when Phil comes in, they look up at her guiltily. 

"Our secret," Robbie says, and Phil isn't even sure who she'd tell, but she holds out her hand.

"I take bribes." 

Robbie laughs, giving her a handful and Phil sits down between them and Pat. She hasn't had McDonalds in years, and as she eats them, she comes up with excuses incase Coach Stone ever finds out. Most of them have to do with potatoes and carbs and energy. Coach will never buy it.

Next to her, Pat twitches in her sleep, kicking Phil's thigh, and Phil grasps her ankle, shaking it to wake her. 

"Wha-?"

"Hey." Phil grins. Pat's hair is matted in the back, her sweatshirt too big for her, rolled up at the wrists and twisted awkwardly around her body. Phil can see the number 19 on the left sleeve. 

"Phil," Pat exclaims, throwing herself forward and wrapping her arms tightly around Phil's neck. "Asshole."

"Same old Kaner."

"Brand new Kessel," Pat grins, hitting Phil's shoulder harder than strictly necessary. "This goal streak you're on, man, Jesus. You gonna keep it up for the best team in the universe?"

Phil rolls her eyes. "We'll see." 

"Ugh, your humility wounds me," she clutches at her chest and Phil pushes her a few inches away. Pat just keeps grinning. "I've missed you."

"Like a hole in the head?"

"That's a dumb phrase. What are they teaching you up in Canada?"

"Manners."

"Doubtful."

Point. "How to play hockey," Phil settles on.

"Fair," Pat shrugs. "As long as you use your new found skills for us every four years, I'm cool with you living out the rest of your days in the land of winter or whatever."

Phil had forgotten what being around Pat all the time is like. She's loud and obnoxious, drinks too much and works harder than anyone Phil's ever met. She makes a pretty good roommate, at least for someone who isn't Ty. She's a little messy, but otherwise they fall into rhythms they developed when they were 17 at the USNTDP. 

Phil figures she got off lucky, as far as rooming assignments go. Until, that is, Phil wakes up the first night and Pat's making small whimpering noises, her sheets rustling, and Phil hasn't dealt with this side of Pat in nine years and she's a little out of practice. She stays quiet, stays on her side, facing away from Pat, but it's impossible not to be aroused by the noises and the images they're drawing in Pat's head. Phil misses Ty profoundly, with an ache that settles in her belly and doesn't go away until she gets herself off in the shower the next morning. 

It would be fine, if it was a one-time thing. Or even an every-few-days thing. Phil gets it; she misses Ty, too. For Pat, though, it’s a nightly occurrence, sometimes multi- nightly, and Phil knows that she's not the most sexual of people, but, still. Pat's utterly ridiculous until the mens’ teams arrive in Sochi, and then she's gone for long periods of time to, Phil assumes, exchange quickies with Jonny Toews in supply closets or double toilet stalls or something. 

Phil kind of misses Pat. She definitely misses having a roommate, until she opens her door on the second morning after the guys get there to find Reemer dozing against the wall next to her room.

"Umm, James?" Phil says, intelligently.

Reemer jerks awake, blinking up at Phil as he rubs at his eyes. "Ahh, sorry. I'm still jet lagged." Which doesn't explain what he's doing on the floor in the hallway, on the women's floor, but Phil’s learned to stop expecting much from her teammates.

"Wanna come in? Pat hasn't been back all night, so,” she shrugs, “clean bed."

"Yes." She doesn't think she's ever seen Reemer so excited about anything, and, as she steps aside, Reemer bounds in excitedly and immediately collapses on to Pat's made bed.

"So?" Phil leads. 

Reemer opens one eye. "Cally snores."

And so Reemer pretty much moves in, Pat mostly stays at Jonny’s, and, minus the constant ache of missing Ty, things aren't really all that different than they are in Toronto. The similarities continue on the ice, too, as Phil manages to parlay her NHL scoring streak into the beginnings of a beautiful tournament. 

They beat Finland and Switzerland easily, and Phil records four goals, two assists, and a plus seven. She’s starting to feel better about being here, playing women’s hockey, gelling, slowly, with her college teammates. There are different styles, between the NHL, college, and the women’s league, and it takes them – Quickie and Pat and Phil and Chu – a while to adjust to the larger ice surface, the lack of checking, the emphasis on clean passes, but it’s coming together.

Which is when they lose to Canada. It’s only the qualifying round; it doesn't really matter - seeds them second instead of first for the medal rounds - but it's disheartening for a young team not used to losing. Phil's a Maple Leaf, and even she is feeling overly effected by the loss. 

So, on their off day, the team heads into Adler in search of beer and good food, which the cafeteria most definitely lacks. They eat Russian ravioli and beef stew, which, after five days of pizza and steamed chicken fingers, taste heavenly. They also share a litre of Russian vodka between them, and more pitchers than they can count.

Phil's feeling pleasantly tipsy by the time they're joined by a contingent of US speed skaters, curlers, and an international contingent of snowboarders down from the mountain for the day. She's finishing off her second vodka shot when Torah Bright takes the empty seat next to her and grabs the bottle.

“Celebrating,” she offers. “Won silver today.”

“Congrats,” Phil holds out her shot glass. She can drink to other countries’ medals, as long as they’re not Canadian.

“Thanks.” Torah clangs their glasses together and downs her shot. Phil’s burns, settling into her stomach with a pleasant spread of warmth. She feels bold, in her skin, and she wishes Ty was here. It seems like a waste of a good buzz if she can’t end the night with Ty on top of her, kissing her breasts and fingering her open.

“… what with Putin’s draconian take on gays and all,” Torah’s saying, when Phil tunes back in, red faced and embarrassed and definitely more turned on than she should be, here, surrounded by USA Hockey and an Australian snowboarder.

“Yeah, totally,” Phil agrees as Torah hands her another shot. She should really stop drinking. “Those laws are abhorrent and were just meant to incite the international community.”

Torah’s eyes are bright as she raises an eyebrow, grinning. “Abhorrent, huh?”

“Yes,” Phil says, decisively, because she went to a year of college and totally knows what that means, seriously. “And Syria, don’t even get me started on Syria.” Which, Torah really shouldn’t, because Phil doesn’t know anything about Syria beyond what her father said when he decided not to accompany them to Sochi. 

“Um,” Amanda leans over from Phil’s other side, taking the untouched shot from her fingers and breathing into Phil’s space, her voice low. “I think you’re done.”

Phil frowns. It’s a sad day when her little sister has to slow her down. She misses her Leafs teammates.

Amanda just laughs at her. “Hey, I’m just looking out for you, and you’d hate it if any of this stuff you’re saying ends up in the papers.”

She has a point. Phil checks her phone, it’s getting late anyway. “I think I’m gonna head back.”

“I’ll come with,” Amanda’s halfway out of her seat when Torah clasps a hand on Phil’s shoulder and waves Amanda back into her seat.

“I’ll walk back with her. I’m ready to turn in anyway.”

Amanda gives Phil a concerned, sideways look and, yeah, Phil should have seen it coming. But, it’s the Olympics and in the name of International hospitality and all that, Phil shakes her head at Amanda and allows Torah to take her elbow and lead her out of the restaurant. It’s a bit chilly outside, and Phil shivers as Torah lets out a disgruntled sound and huddles closer to her side.

Phil blames the alcohol, she really does, for not seeing it before it happens. They’re walking towards the athlete shuttle stop only a few blocks away, when Torah’s fingers close over Phil’s wrist, twisting her around. “Huh?” Phil asks, as Torah’s body crowds close, pressed tightly to Phil’s chest and Phil can feel a hand at her hip before Torah leans forward and is kissing her.

It’s not a bad kiss, mostly tongue and vodka and giddy celebration, but once Phil gets her feet under her again, all she can think about is Ty and her mouth and her fingers and her awkward laugh and how much Phil just wants her to be here, in Sochi, on her line, on this street corner. 

Phil puts a hand on Torah’s chest, pushing her back. “I-” She takes a gasping breath. “I can’t.”

“I’m sorry.” Torah frowns. “I thought you were- the way you were talking back there, and Putin-”

And, shit, had she been so obvious? Phil shakes her head. “No, no, I mean, I am- I’m just, attached?” That seems like the safest, most accurate, word for whatever the hell she and Ty are.

“Oh.” Torah holds up her hands. “Sorry, I wouldn’t ever- That’s cool. No hard feelings?”

“No hard feelings,” Phil agrees.

“So, that shuttle?”

“Yeah.”

***

Amanda doesn’t say _I told you so_ the next morning, but it’s a close thing.

Phil wakes up when the door opens, Pat holding up her key, silhouetted in the hallway light, as Amanda peers into the dark room. In the other bed, Reemer groans and turns over, burying his eyes in his pillow. Phil squints. She has a headache.

“You up?” Amanda asks, moving slowly into the room, careful not to trip over anything, without waiting for a response. Pat, on the other hand, bounds over, throwing herself onto the bed and curling against Phil's knees.

"Nice catch."

Phil has no idea what she's talking about. It's too early and she's too hung-over to try and figure Pat out right now. "What?"

"Torah Bright, man. She's da bomb."

Phil sits up, slowly, dislodging Pat and causing Reemer to pull the pillow away from his eyes and look over, half-impressed, half-betrayed. "You hooked up with Torah Bright? Jesus."

Phil stares at them both. "No," she says, slowly, because she didn’t. Pretty much.

Pat shrugs. "Not what Deadspin says."

"I didn't-." Phil protests, motioning at Reemer. "You were here when I got in." Then, she processes Pat's words and, what the hell? Silently, Amanda hands over her team-issued phone, open to Deadspin.

It's a picture, far away but clear enough, of Phil and Torah kissing and, from the angle, Phil looks pretty into it, her body pressing towards Torah’s, her eyes closed, but, "I pushed her away."

Reemer grabs for the phone. Pat shrugs, sounding weirdly serene. "It only takes a second and a camera."

"This isn't a fucking joke," Phil swears, then feels kind of bad about it. "Sorry," she amends.

Pat looks significantly chastised though, and she moves over so that Phil can get up and hunt for her phone in her bag. She has 53 text messages and 8 voice messages, but none of them are from Ty. She opens up a new message, types out " _nothing happened_ ," because nothing did, and all Phil wants is for Ty to believe that. Because, even if she and Ty aren’t officially exclusive, haven’t even talked about dating or relationships or anything, Phil can’t ignore how it’s felt these past few months, like they were getting there, closer and closer, and Phil feels like she owes Ty everything. Always has. And now-

She sits back on the end of her bed and Amanda sits beside her, resting her head on Phil's shoulder. "I was so careful," Phil whispers, the shock taking hold, and she feels cold and numb. Because it didn't matter, years of hiding and sneaking around and vetting her dates and holding Ty at arms length, and none of it mattered a fuck in the end.

***

Phil gets an apology call from Torah early in the day. Phil thanks her and tells her not to worry, even though snowboarding’s a more forgiving sport than hockey is. Torah ends with "If your girl doesn't believe you, send her to me," which would be sweet, if it wasn't such a painful reminder that Ty still hasn't contacted her. Even though it's been 10 hours since the story broke and Phil has left numerous messages and texts and, even, a ridiculous plea sent through D.

She spends the rest of the day with USA Hockey and their lawyers. Phil agrees to do one press conference, with a planned statement that she wrote with Amanda and Pat and was toned down by Katey Stone.

She hates it. Her palms are sweating and her head is warm under her tuque and she's never been nervous where hockey is concerned before, but this is different. This is hockey with cameras and antagonistic faces, Boston all over again but magnified and internationalized. 

"I’d like to say something first. I’d just like to, ah,” Phil doesn't look up from her prepared statement. "Thank USA hockey and the Toronto Maple Leafs, um, Brian Burke, Katey Stone, Nonis, Poulin, for, you know, showing their support. It’s a great honor to, ahh, play for both these organizations. Their faith and, um, support,” she can’t really read the paper in front of her anymore, her eyes going fuzzy and blank with nerves, and she flinches, finishing quickly, “they’ve meant a lot to me.”

Every reporter in the room raises their microphone, and Phil nods, generally, to her left, assuming that they’ll work it out themselves. He’s a reporter from The Hockey News. “So, Phil, can you confirm that the picture is real?”

Phil shifts, licks her lips, remembers that Amanda said she couldn’t deny it. “Ahh, yeah.”

“So,” he continues, “you’re gay?”

She nods. “Yes, I am.”

A woman from The New York Times pushes forward to her right, and Phil turns her head to hear her. “Did you plan on coming out at these games? Was this your way of protesting Russia’s anti-homosexual agenda?”

“Ahh,” Phil stares at her. Why would she ever do that? “I, you know, came here to play hockey. And I regret all the trouble this has caused. For USA hockey. And, ahh, for my teammates.”

“Did your US teammates know you were gay?”

Phil shrugs. “Of course. They’re my teammates.”

“And how did they feel about it?”

“That’s really a question you’d have to ask them, yeah?” The reporter stares her down, and she amends, “They’ve, ahh, been very supportive over the last day or so.”

“And the Maple Leafs? Do you think they’ll treat you any differently now?”

“Nah,” Phil shakes her head. If she’s sure of only one thing, it’s this. “We’ve got a great team in Toronto, a great group of players in the locker room. We, you know, have a lot of fun together. The organization is unbelievable, and that’s not going to change.”

“Are you worried about going back to Toronto?”

Phil frowns. Didn’t she just answer that? “What do you mean?” 

“Toronto fans are notoriously fickle. How do you think you’ll be received when you go back next week?”

“I don’t agree with that,” Phil shakes her head. “Maple Leaf fans have been unbelievable since I got there. It’s a great city, they care about hockey and they care about winning.” She shrugs. “I’m still dedicated to bringing a cup there.”

“Have you talked to any of your teammates? Since the picture came out?”

“Um, yeah,” Phil shifts. This is the longest she’s been on camera in ages, and all she wants to do is get away so that she can check her phone, maybe try Ty again. “I’ve talked to a lot of the guys, Coach Carlyle, management. Reemer’s here, so- I feel fortunate that my family, my friends, my teammates, they all care about me and USA hockey and the Maple Leafs.”

“Do you plan on getting involved with the LGBT community? Brian Burke brought you to Toronto and his organization, You Can Play, is working hard to make hockey a gay-friendly sport.”

“To tell you the truth, I really hadn’t thought about it. I’m just trying to get through the rest of the tournament, bring back a medal for America.” Which is the truth. She’d talked to Burke that morning, and he’d been supportive and lovely, but they hadn’t talked yet about outreach or ads or donations. She really has to remember how to breathe before she can worry about any of that.

“And do you think you still have a chance to win? You lost to Canada last night, and this is a big distraction.”

Phil glares. She’s never really trusted The Sun reporters, they like her when she’s scoring but are so, so quick to turn against any Maple Leaf who’s having a bit of a slump. “Obviously, we wanna win, right? Canada played a good game. They wanted it more. We have to be bigger, quicker, stronger on the puck but, we want it too. We’ve gotta play our game and play with each other, and I think will we’ll be alright.” 

Phil feels a hand on her shoulder and she looks over, gratefully, to see Katey Stone smiling at her. “Okay all, thank you for coming, but we have practice in a few and Phil needs to go get ready.”

Phil leaves, probably faster than she’s ever left somewhere in her life.

***

Phil really doesn't care what people think of her. Over the next few days, however, she wears a beanie low over her eyes and an overly-large, non-descript Nike hoodie to and from the practice rink, trying desperately to blend in. Still, she's accosted by people asking for quotes and pictures, endorsements from the LGBT press and interviews with the hockey media. She's a sudden celebrity, in the worst way possible, and she's honestly as worried about her supporters as she is the guys calling for her removal from the sport.

So, when she's not at practice, she holes up in her room, wishing that Ty would call her back and watching Friday Night Lights with Amanda, Reemer, Pat and, occasionally, Tazer. Before, she hadn't really gotten the whole Kaner-and-Tazer thing, but the way Jonny looks at Pat, holds her hand, silently supports Phil just because Pat loves her- Phil is coming around on them. 

Even Kulemin drops by for a memorable game of poker, bearing a tray of food from the cafeteria. They bet with chocolate croissants, and, when Phil wins the first five hands, she splurges by eating three of them. 

When Crosby drops by, however, his hands shoved into his pockets as he says, "You're doing a brave thing," she decides she's had enough.

"Walk," she announces, standing up once Crosby's left and staring pointedly at Amanda and Reemer. She's pretty fucking sick of people, but it's not too smart to be in the Park alone right now. Plus, Amanda and Reemer don't really count as people. They're family.

"Ahh, yeah, okay," Amanda gets up slowly, brushing popcorn off her lap and watching Phil suspiciously.

Reemer pulls out his phone and types away for a moment before shrugging. "There's curling at the Ice Cube?"

Team USA is pretty terrible at curling this year, but that means there will be less fans there. "Sounds good," Phil agrees. Everything outside this stupid room sounds good.

Phil pulls her beanie low over her forehead and they climb onto their bikes. It's not a long ride, and, when they're not looked at twice getting into the Ice Cube, Phil starts to feel her body setting into the anonymity she works so hard to cultivate.

"I don't understand the rules of curling," Amanda whines as she takes the seat on Phil's left side.

"You wanna get the stone into the bullseye."

"Very helpful." Amanda rolls her eyes. Phil shrugs. It feels good to be chirped at again, all the good feeling and well wishes over the past couple days have felt strained and insincere. Phil checks her phone, hoping her newfound good feeling over the past hour would extend to Ty. No such luck.

Reemer elbows her and she looks up at him. He looks apologetic. "Reilly and Gardiner texted - they say they're throwing a coming out party when we get back. With balloons. And cupcakes."

Phil rubs at her eyes. "Tell them not to." 

"Don't think that's an option."

"Tell them not to get 'she's gay' balloons." She means it as a joke, but the more she thinks about it, the more she can picture the article in The Sun - 'Leafs Rookies Buy _She’s Gay_ Balloons for Newly-Out Teammate Phil Kessel.' Phil flinches. “Actually, don’t give them any ideas.”

Reemer shrugs. “I don’t know. Seems like we should at least get a party out of all this.”

Phil can’t argue with that. Especially since this was all her stupid, drunken, thoughtless mistake, and she’d be okay with the consequences – or, more okay, at least – if it was just her, but it’s not. She knows what it’s like here, for Amanda and Reemer, for USA hockey, for the other women’s teams, and she can only imagine what it’s like for her teammates in Toronto. She looks at her phone again. Texts from D, Orrsey, and her mom, but not from Ty.

“Maybe she hasn't seen it yet?" Reemer offers, because he knows Phil and he knows Ty, probably better than anyone.

Phil shrugs. "Maybe." Doubtful.

She tries to focus on the curling game, but Amanda’s right, it’s pretty boring. Once the US women are in a deep enough hole, they duck out, grabbing their bikes and deciding to walk back. It’s a beautiful day, unfitting for February and for the mood Phil’s in. 

“Just think,” Amanda bumps her shoulder, “you’re never going to have to pay for a drink at a gay bar in Toronto ever again.”

Reemer’s eyes go wide. “I hadn’t thought of that. Woody’s when we get back?”

“I’d be up for that,” Amanda holds up her hand for Reemer to high-five.

“Free riders,” Phil grumbles. “And aren’t you going to mom and dad’s?”

Amanda shrugs. “Ehh, Madison sounds kinda boring after Boston, yeah? I was thinking I could stay with you for a bit, you know, chill, train, keep you on your toes.”

Phil’s about to nod her agreement and offer to ask Randy if Amanda can practice with the Leafs, when they’re stopped by a reporter in a grey and orange Olympic Broadcasting jacket. “Hey, you’re Phil Kessel. Can we ask you a few questions?”

“Ahh,” Phil starts, taken aback. She’s wearing nothing USA related, sunglasses, a beanie, but she really should have been more prepared for this to happen.

“Cool, thanks.” The reporter shoves a microphone into her face.

Phil wants to argue that she didn’t actually agree, but then the light of the camera is on and she doesn’t have a choice, unless she wants her protests to go viral. 

“So, how are you enjoying your time in Sochi?”

She stares at him; that’s what he wants to ask? “Um, yeah, it’s great.”

“And your team is winning?”

“Mostly.”

“You have four goals. Why are you having success here?”

Phil shrugs. She hates reporters. “My teammates have been great.”

“And the picture? What do you have to say about that?”

Phil sighs, taking a step back, away from the camera, and bumps into Reemer’s chest. “I wish it hadn’t happened that way, but, what can you do, right?”

“Had you thought about coming out before?”

Phil shrugs, feeling Reemer’s supportive hand on the small of her back, where the cameras can’t catch it. “Not really.”

“Why not?”

She rubs at her forehead. “I just want to play hockey, you know.”

“And how does your girlfriend feel about the picture?”

Phil stares. She has no idea how to answer that. She knows she’s quiet for way too long, before she finally says, “I don’t want to answer that. It’s private.” The reporter looks gleeful and, shit, Phil probably just admitted in public that she has a girlfriend, which she doesn’t, not really, and, Jesus, she needs to get out of here.

She feels Amanda’s hand on her shoulder and Reemer’s on her back, pushing her forward, away from the reporter and the camera. It’s stupid, the way her stomach clenches, painfully, tightly, and all she can think about is Ty. 

***

Phil would be lying if she said she was fine, and her semi-final performance is more proof of that than she ever needs. She doesn’t register a point, and she’s pretty much ineffective, but her team is amazing and they beat Sweden anyway. Phil’s kind of embarrassed by her performance, by her inability to leave the crap outside, tune out the world, and play the shit out of the game, but at least, now, she’ll have another chance. For a gold medal that she wants more now than ever.

When she gets back to her room, Pat and Amanda with her as a sort of unofficial guard detail, she's tired and frustrated and kind of wants to play another game right now, to prove herself, to hit someone or score a goal, anything to show that this mess doesn't own her. 

When she opens the door, though, she freezes. Ty is sitting on the end of Phil's bed, her head in her hands. When the door opens, Ty turns her head to look at them. "Hey," she says, softly.

"Hi." Phil wants to grin, but even she knows that would be inappropriate. 

"Hi Ty," Amanda gives a little wave , then grabs Pat's elbow. "We're just gonna go."

They leave silence behind them, and Phil closes the door, turning back around to find Ty standing by the balcony, looking out over the Black Sea.

"I've been trying to call," Phil starts with, because it seems important for Ty to know that she’s been trying.

"Yeah," Ty looks a little guilty and Phil doesn't understand how, in this situation, Ty could ever be the guilty one. "I was running around, getting an emergency visa, booking a flight and stuff. I kinda forgot to buy an international phone plan."

"Oh." Phil frowns. "You're a millionaire," she reminds Ty, then wants to kick herself.

Ty shrugs, and Phil hasn't realized how cold she's been the last couple of days until she sees the ghost of a smile on Ty's face and starts to feel warm again.

"It wasn't- with Torah, it wasn't anything. I pushed her away." Phil promises, sincere and earnest and she doesn’t care how desperate she sounds.

Ty's smile fades away. "Yeah, I figured. Or, hoped."

"Good."

"It's just-"

"Yeah?" Phil urges, because she's so hopeful that this could be it, finally, the talk they should have had three years ago, before she was ready. And now, well, she just hopes she’s not too late.

Ty breathes, then, in a rush, “I thought, if you ever came out, it would be with me. Because of me.”

It’s probably selfish of Ty, but she looks so sincere, so genuine, and, truth is, Phil always assumed that, too. In the rare moments when she had pictured it – stepping out from the media-created culture of fear to stand up for herself, for them – Ty had always been there, shoulder-to-shoulder with her.

But, maybe, that’s exactly why things had to go down just like they had. To Phil, Ty is wonderful and beautiful and perfect, but she’s also brimming with a naiveté that comes from her privileged position. Not that she hasn’t faced adversity, any undrafted top-line center lives and breaths adversity; she’s never faced it as a woman or a gay athlete in the NHL, though. She can’t entirely understand what Phil went through before they ever even met.

But, Ty makes Phil forget everything that came before, and, in that way, “It _was_ because of you. In a way.” Phil promises, because it’s true and because it’s better than _this was something I had to do on my own_. And, with the most astonishing clarity, Phil understands that that was exactly what the last few months have been about. Finding herself. Coming to terms with who she is, learning to be okay with who she is. Her gender, her sexuality, her identity as a queer female athlete – these are things she had to wrestle with, on her own, before she could ever try something, for real, with Ty.

And, god, does she want to try.

But Ty looks confused, a little concerned, perhaps a bit angry, and Phil realizes that she’s grinning and that must look terrible from Ty’s position. She steels her features. “In what way? Cause from where I’m standing, it’s you and Torah Bright in that photo.”

Phil flinches. “Not- not the photo. That was bad,” she admits. Ty looks like she’s fluctuating between wanting to punch Phil and wanting to escape from this conversation all together. “But, it’s not really about the photo, yeah?”

Ty shakes her head, looking closer to turning and hightailing it out of the room, and Phil can’t let that happen. She reaches out, wraps her fingers around Ty's wrist. Ty shivers, and Phil takes it as permission to take a step closer.

"I never thought about coming out, not before I met you."

"And now?"

Phil shrugs. "It sucks, but, maybe it was worth it?"

Ty sucks in a breath, twisting her wrist so that she can wrap her fingers around Phil's forearm. "I don't want to fuck around anymore. You have to tell me what you want."

"Everything," Phil says, without thinking. "All that you'll give me."

Ty laughs, tender and brittle. "You've had it, Phil. You've had it since Denver."

"I'm such an idiot." Phil tugs on Ty’s wrist, pulling her closer. She leans up, pressing her nose against Ty's, then drops her chin and kisses her, slow and soft and relieved. "I'm sorry it took me so long to get here," she whispers. 

Ty presses their lips together, quickly, then smiles into Phil's mouth. "It's okay. You're here now."

"Yeah." Phil breathes out a sigh when Ty slips her hand under Phil's sweatshirt. "Reemer-"

"He let me in, said he'd be gone for a while."

"We owe him a large bottle of Russian vodka."

"The good stuff," Ty agrees, as she pushes Phil back onto the bed. 

They take their time, kissing and exploring and reveling in the knowledge that this is it, they can have this, over and over again and for as long as they want. Ty keeps Phil on the edge for hours, her fingers in Phil and her teeth on Phil's clit, until she finally allows Phil to spill over with a shout that is not well-muffled by her pillow at all. Then she pulls Ty up, on her knees above Phil's mouth, her thighs shaking and her hands grasping at the wall as Phil licks into her fast and dirty. Ty comes, Phil's names on her lips, and collapses next to her, turning her head, desperately, for Phil's mouth.

They kiss like that, hands on hips and thighs and collarbones, until the emotions of the last few days catch up to Phil and she pulls back, arm still around Ty's shoulders. Ty rests her head in Phil's chest. 

"So, I kinda told a reporter yesterday that I have a girlfriend." Phil says, quietly. It's probably something she should have owned up to before the make-up sex, but it had kinda slipped her mind. "Well, not told so much as strongly implied."

Ty smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of Phil's left breast. "That'll make it easier then." She leans up on her elbow. "The whole coming-out-as-a-couple thing."

"Yeah?" Phil asks, quickly. "You don't have to. We could keep going as we have been."

"No," Ty says, strongly. "I'm done with that, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Phil grins. "Great."

"Good." Ty kisses her, quickly, then settles back against her chest.

Reemer wakes them for practice the next morning, wrinkling his nose and glaring at the clothes strewn about the floor. "It smells like sex in here."

Ty looks up, her hair tousled and her mouth red. She has a dark bruise on her collarbone, clearly visible over the tank top she'd thrown on in the middle of the night. "Not sorry."

"You're gonna be insufferable now, eh?"

"Quite possibly." Ty makes a lewd face and Phil tangles her fingers in Ty's hair, smoothing out the knots and grinning.

***

The women take silver, which is disappointing, but the men take bronze, which is better than expected when the tournament began. Phil's one of the most competitive people she knows, and she really wanted the gold for Amanda. But it's hard to be angry for long when, waiting for the charter at the airport, Ty reaches over and takes Phil's hand in hers.

"I feel like a traitor," Ty sighs, surrounded by Americans all in their Team USA gear.

Reemer reaches out to kick her ankle. "We'll be wearing the Maple Leaf soon enough."

"Go America," Pat yells, loudly, at the same time.

Ty frowns at her. "Next time we're in Chicago, wanna make a wager?"

"Sure. You can have Jonny. Phil and I will still beat your asses." Pat holds out her hand and Ty shakes. "May the best country win," Pat concludes, very seriously.

Ty leans over, stage whispering, "I love you in spite of your country, you get that, right?"

Phil laughs, leaning forward to press her lips to Ty's gently. "Noted."

Reemer snaps a picture, uploading it to Twitter with an "@PKessel81 & @Bozie42 so adorable I want to barf" description. He shrugs. "Better me than Deadspin."

Phil figures that's true.

***

The articles die down about the time they win their first playoff series in over 10 years. They lose in the Eastern Conference Finals, but it's a hard fought 6 games and it's so much further than they were two years ago. 

Amanda decides to stay the summer with Ty and Phil in Toronto, training for her last year at Minnesota. It's her draft year, and Phil's a little sad when she goes to the Blackhawks in the second round. She figures it has something to do with Pat, though, so she sends a quick "take care of her or ill sic orssey on u" text. At least, Phil figures, this means that she'll be spending a lot more time in Chicago and they'll get their Team USA-Team Canada mini-match in the near future.

In July, Brian Burke convinces Phil and Ty to do a You Can Play charity event that Phil would have definitely begged off if she didn't owe Burke so much. 

"And you didn't even want to go to Denver," he teases, coming up behind Phil. "Means you should always do what I say from now on."

Phil rolls her eyes. "You didn't know this would happen."

"Maybe," he shrugs. "But I know you."

Phil can't argue with that. "Sure," Phil starts, but then a young girl comes up to their table, holding out a picture of Phil and Ty celebrating a goal in the first round. 

"What's your name?" Phil asks, as she accepts the picture and picks up her sharpie.

"Jane. But it's for my girlfriend. Sam." The girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen, flashes Phil a tentative smile. "We both play hockey."

So young, is all Phil can think. If she could have come out at that age, lived her life the way it is now, well, it's not really worth thinking about. "Good for you. Do you want Ty Bozak too?"

Jane nods enthusiastically and Phil catches Ty’s eye across the room, beckoning her over. "This is Jane," Phil introduces them. "She'd like a signature for her girlfriend."

Ty's eyes go wide, but she takes the sharpie and makes a flourishing signature. Jane beams, bounding away and waving the picture gleefully at her mom.

Phil slips her hand behind Ty, resting on her lower back, away from the cameras and the sponsors. "That was cool," Phil says. 

Ty laughs, pushing into Phil's hand and clutching at her other arm. On her other side, Burke chuckles. 

"What?"

Ty rolls her eyes. Perhaps Phil isn't the best media ambassador You Can Play could have, and they probably shouldn’t put her in front or reporters too often, but she has her strengths. Just took her a while to figure them out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. If you want to chat about Phil and Bozie, the Leafs, women in the NHL, or the awesome opportunities of gender swap in fic writing, comment here or find me on [tumblr](http://stainyourhands.tumblr.com)!


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